Letters to Richard
by soprano193
Summary: In a memory box, on a shelf in their closet, Kate keeps a stack of sealed letters. What Castle doesn't know, is that they were all written for him.
1. Chapter 1

Dear Mr. Castle,

I wish Derrick Storm was real. I wish someone existed who actually did their job, and solved crime. And although an international super spy wouldn't necessarily care about a single case in the NYPD archives, it would make me feel better knowing that someone was out there searching for justice.

You see, my Mother loved your books. I can still see her, sitting by the fire, her case notes shoved aside with your book in her lap. I remember her breathing sharpening as she got into it, her eyes moving fast over the pages. And before I left for school again after the holidays, she tucked _Hell Hath No Fury_ in my carry on, a sticky note on the cover telling me to call her when got home. Now my Mother only exists in my memory, her life taken from her well before her time by some asshole in an alley with a knife. It's been a few months, and the sting is still there, but the pain doesn't knock me over like it used to. If anything, I have your books to help with that. I started reading them after her funeral. I liked to imagine how she would feel, what she thought might happen next, how believable she thought any of it was. It was a way for me to feel close to her again, and for that, I truly thank you.

The detectives assigned to her case don't seem to care. They never collected her case notes, we had to drop off the hate mail she received from the few clients she ever lost, and they seem to be annoyed whenever we call. They keep offering this idea of what happened, and disregard any facts that point in another dimension. And instead of getting justice, her file is sitting on a shelf gathering dust. Derrick Storm wouldn't stand for this. Derrick Storm would follow this case wherever it went, no matter how unlikely. So thank you. Thank you for a character who always sticks up for the little guy. Thanks for creating someone so eager to find the truth. I don't think you understand just how important he is.

Sincerely,

Katie Beckett

 _A/N: A family friend is doing this thing called incowrimo this year, in which she writes a letter to someone every day this month. Since Castle literally wrote Kate a book, I thought it would be interesting to see what types of letters Kate writes to him. To be honest, I've been fighting with some depression in the last few weeks, and this might just be the project to pull me out of it. I can't promise one a day, and I have catching up to do, but I will do my absolute best to churn some of these out. I hope you enjoy!_


	2. Chapter 2

Dear Mr. Castle,

I never sent my first letter. We never seemed to have a stamp, and maybe I was a bit embarrassed, and at some point everything I had said seemed so juvenile. You see, when I wrote before, I was angry. I wanted to lash out, to yell from the rooftops, and go down to the precinct that was handling my Mother's case and give them all a piece of my mind. Detective Raglan had just called to tell us he'd decided to close her case, with no arrests or effort put into it at all. And I'd had enough.

Random gang violence. That's what they concluded. My Mother was killed as some gang initiation, probably by a teenager who didn't know what he was taking from the world. Even though she wasn't killed in gang territory, and nothing was stolen, that's what they went with. It doesn't add up to me. It never has. It was something I never thought Derrick Storm would do. He would search until he had turned every stone.

So I decided to do something to channel my anger. I enrolled in the police academy. Some of it was easy. I had a degree in criminal justice, and one year of pre-law under my belt. Some of it was trying, and I wondered what had gotten into me. But I keep seeing myself as my favorite book character, getting justice for every victim, no matter how difficult the case seemed. And Mr. Castle, I'm happy to report that I made it. I graduated at the top of my class, and I start with the NYPD in just a few days. I hope to keep Derrick Storm's attitude and dedication with me as I embark on this next chapter of my life. And I just want to thank you for giving me someone to look up to during the worst times of my life.

Signed,

Officer Katherine Beckett, NYPD


	3. Chapter 3

Dear Castle,

I failed. I failed everyone. I failed myself, my Mother's memory, Derrick Storm, and all the victims you helped me bring justice to. God, how out of touch did I let myself get? How many years on the force did it take for me to get like that? I ignored the blatant mistakes in the Tisdale murder, because Kyle Cabot fit into the little box I drew in my mind. The whole reason I decided to become a police officer was to avoid things like this. It's what infuriated me most about my Mother's case, how the detectives ignored things that seemed obvious because it fit with what they thought happened. And worst of all, I did this in front of you.

I've written you two letters, letters that for whatever reason, I never sent (and clearly, I can't send you this one now.). I applauded your character, his drive, and used him as inspiration to join the force. So, I guess that by extension, I sort of idolized you too. I always thought that there had to be someone special behind Derrick Storm. I built you up in my mind, and falling so far in front of you was one of the most embarrassing things I've ever done.

You know how people say that you shouldn't meet your hero? They say that you'll only be disappointed. But I don't think that happened to me. Yes, you were different than I expected. I was expecting to find some stuffy millionaire, who couldn't have cared less about Ashley Tisdale. Instead I found a child in a man's body, who only wanted to help. Despite that, you were compassionate and observant, helping us out when we didn't think we needed it. Yes, sometimes you annoyed me, and I wanted to throw you out. And stealing the file didn't help with any of that. But having you around helped me remember the cop that I always wanted to be. Your persistence, while annoying, was actually helpful. And I thank you for giving that drive back to me.

And yet, even though I failed, you want to write a book about me. I can't imagine what you saw in me. I don't know why anyone would want to read about me. And while I'm not thrilled with the prospect of chasing you around, maybe you'll help me keep up this drive that I came onto the force with. And maybe, in another eight years, I won't fail again. But first things first. I'm going to have to teach you how to follow orders. Something tells me this will be impossible. Here's to hoping you write quickly.

-Beckett


	4. Chapter 4

Every time I have a brush with death, I call my Dad. Some of it, I think, is comforting to me. I hear his voice, and that's enough to take me back to the time when I would find refuge in his arms. And some of it ends up being a comfort to him. I don't always tell him, he doesn't need to know every terrible detail. But somehow he always knows. Dads have that ability, guess. He didn't want me to join the force. He already lost his wife, he would fall apart if he lost me too. But he supports me. He wants me to be happy, and this is what makes me happy.

When I called today, it's like he was waiting by the phone. It only rang once before his voice came on the line. He let me drone on and on, about my lack of a social life, my mountains of paperwork, and the new combat instructor before he interrupted. "So what happened today?" I told you, he always knows. My nerves kicked up a notch as I tried to figure out the best way to tell him.

I settled on, "you know that writer that's been following me around? He kind of saved my life." And that, Mr. Castle, is not a sentence I thought I would ever say. I don't think anyone would have seen that coming. Even the boys wouldn't have taken that bet. Dad was quiet on the other end, giving me time to explain, so I told him everything. I told him about how you were driving me nuts, talking about deep fried twinkies, and how even your ex-wife had wormed her way into my precinct. I told him about how you used your own books as expert advice. I told him about your stupid vest, and how I thought you were a liability, and how you can't seem to stay in the car. And then I told him about the champagne bottle. I told him how your quick thinking allowed me to get another shot in. I told him that without you there, I could have died.

He took it all in as best he could, quiet as always. Finally, he asked me to shake your hand for him. Then he asked me to let you out of the car more often. I promised to at least think of it.

Here is my dilemma. If something happens to you, and your daughter becomes parent-less, I would never forgive myself. I know what that's like, and I will not subject Alexis to that pain. But, without you, I would not be here. You have proven yourself more times that I thought possible in the last few months. And sometimes, your insight actually helps. So maybe, letting you out of the car every once in a while wouldn't be a terrible idea. As long as we have the right backup, of course.

I don't think I can truly express how grateful I am to be breathing right now. I have you to thank for that, Castle.

-Beckett


	5. Chapter 5

Castle-

Why me? What is it about me that has you digging into my life? I'm not that spectacular, or compelling, and I don't think your readers would ever care about my life. And I still don't understand how your "research" gives you the right to stick your nose where it doesn't belong. It was the one thing I asked. That's not true. I've asked you to do many things that you haven't done. But it's the one thing I meant when I asked, and I thought we had an understanding. I thought you would take this one seriously!

My Mother's case is off limits. I don't look at it, the boys don't look at it, my Captain doesn't look at it, and that expectation of privacy extended to you. Just when I thought you might be different, that maybe you cared, you go and pull this. I can't believe I let my guard down, that I let you have unfettered access to my life. I'm not a character in your stupid book, I'm a real person, with real feelings, that you're exploiting for some sort of personal gain. I don't care what you found, what "new evidence" might exist, I don't want to know. It's not good for me or anyone else if I start investigating again.

I spent many sleepless nights going over every inch of that file. I can still quote every line. During really bad cases, the nightmares come back, my own voice reading the file out loud. The first few years I was a cop, I followed every miniscule lead I could find. Every off duty moment was spent searching for my mother's killer. The obsession consumed me, drove me. I ignored the concerned looks of my partner when I came into work with bags under my eyes. When my Captain asked if everything was okay, I blamed my exhaustion on noisy neighbors. And every night I would return home and pore over the details again.

Eventually, it got the best of me. We were tracking down a pimp we suspected of trafficking children. Reports had come in saying he was moving a group of teenagers, so we were waiting at the drop off location. He caught wind of us though, and took off. Luckily, we were ready. My partner gave directions from his car, he had planned out how to box this guy in. I was supposed to be waiting at an intersection by the park, but the suspect changed directions. My partner told me where to go, which way to turn, and I said I copied. But I couldn't keep up. I turned left instead of right, I wasn't waiting to stop the guy, and he got away. My partner didn't let me live it down.

We caught the guy about a week later. By then, the girls he was moving were long gone. I blamed myself. If I had been alert enough, I could have stopped him, and those girls would be safe. Once he was arraigned, I cashed in my vacation time, and disappeared from the precinct for a bit. I went into therapy. The doctor told me that the plan seemed complicated, that anything could have gone wrong, and that I shouldn't blame myself. But he suggested that my drive for justice may have been hurting me more than I was willing to admit. He asked me when the last time I had cooked for myself was. When was the last time I socialized outside of work? When was the last time I slept more than four hours? When was the last time I did something for myself just because it made me happy? After a few sessions, I decided to return the file to the archives.

My sleepless nights seemed so much longer once I stopped investigating. Somehow, not having the file to fall into made time pass slower. Even in the silence, I could still hear the whispers of the case, begging me to come back to it. I fought it with all my might. I would play music, specifically Billy Joel since my Mother loved him, and would dance until I was tired. One night I cleaned my apartment from top to bottom. Sometimes I would pull out a book and read. And slowly, my life became normal. My coworkers stopped looking for bags under my eyes. I threw my passion for my mother's case into my work. And while I never forgot those girls I couldn't save, I tried not to let it hang like a dark cloud above my head. I became the youngest female detective, and the first female in Homicide in fifteen years. I had a new purpose, one that would make my Mom proud.

So I can't look into this new evidence you've found. I can't fall back into that rabbit hole. I can't put other people in danger. And if you can't respect that, then we can't be partners. I won't apologize for standing up for my own mental health. My life is not yours to be toyed with. Find a new inspiration.

-Beckett


	6. Chapter 6

You know, it wasn't as easy as I thought it would be to cut you out of my life. Don't get me wrong, I was angry. And it surprised no one. Lanie got it, the boys understood, and even my Captain, for once, was understanding when I told him why you had to leave. It didn't matter how much the Mayor loved you, this time, you crossed a line. For a week, Lanie took me out after each shift. We cursed your name, drank my sorrows away, and vented. I got all my frustrations out regarding you. I felt free.

Then we had a case. A good case. One with a body in a freezer, secret identities, and sabotage. You would have loved it. And I kind of missed your crazy theories, and your insights. kind of. I was still angry. I still never wanted to see your face again. It wasn't the same. Ryan tried to take on your role, coming up with theories that wouldn't make sense even by your standards. Even Esposito was going nuts. I was kind of surprised he didn't call you up just to make it stop. He wouldn't betray my trust like that, though. He'd always have my back.

But then you came back. It was just one case, and yes, you were helpful, but I was still angry. You didn't see the fallout. You didn't care how what you found affected me, just that you found something. You only wanted the glory. But then, you came to me and apologized. A sincere apology. It was the last thing I expected, but I could tell you understood why you hurt me. And as you walked away, I realized something. You were respecting my wishes. You were ready to leave me alone forever. And in that whole time that we didn't speak, you never tried to force your presence onto me. You weren't pushy or impulsive. I don't think you even texted me in that time period. That is what caused me to resume our partnership. I saw that after a betrayal like that, you were still capable of listening to me.

I tested you, you know. During our _Strangers on a Train_ murder, I told you that it reminded me of my Mother's case. You didn't push. You let me lead that discussion, to choose how much I wanted to say. It helped. I'm regaining some of my trust in you, Castle.

Don't blow it, okay?

-Beckett


End file.
